


when the course is laid and the anchor's weighed

by Did



Series: Captain Rez'okun's Big Gay Crisis [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Cultural Differences, M/M, flehmen response, pirate wannabe lures straight-laced sailor into highly unprofessional olfactory groping session, weird troll biology headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Did/pseuds/Did
Summary: "Da Darkspear and Zandalari got plenty of differences, true, but we got even more in common. If da Zandalari ever get da sticks outta their bums, I think we gonna be good friends!" - Shadow Hunter Ty’jin





	when the course is laid and the anchor's weighed

**Author's Note:**

> for those of you who aren't aware: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flehmen_response
> 
> WELCOME ABOARD MY CRACK SHIP MATEYS

Days like these are the days Rez’okun lives for. The skies are clear, the sails are full, and the ship’s hold is piled high with plunder.

Today’s expedition was incredibly fruitful. Ty’jin’s raiding party had chanced upon a smuggler’s outpost that yielded several casks of Kul Tiran ale in addition to their sought-after azerite, and now Darkspear and Zandalari alike lounge about the ship in varying states of inebriation, laughing and chattering and occasionally squabbling.

Despite some initial friction, Ty’jin and his shadow hunters have taken to the nautical lifestyle with gratifying enthusiasm. Rez’okun, a true sea-dog at heart, can’t help but be charmed by their eagerness, even if he despairs of Ty’jin’s insistence on wearing an enormous tricorn pirate hat into battle. Rez’okun’s attempts to force Ty’jin into some proper troll sailor’s garb have thus far been met with resistance.

It could be worse, Rez’okun supposes. One of Ty'jin's band recently nailed an entire taxidermied parrot to one of her shoulderguards.

Rez’okun leans back in his chair, watching with amusement as Ty’jin animatedly recounts the day’s exploits over a mug of Whitegrove. The fact that Rez’okun himself was present for most of the described events does not seem to dampen Ty’jin’s enthusiasm. Rez’okun finds that he does not particularly mind.

And then Ty'jin pauses mid-sentence, wrinkles his nose, and curls his upper lip high over his sharp teeth, not even trying to hide the fact that he's cupping Rez'okun's scent thoughtfully against the roof of his mouth. A second later he smooths his features back out and resumes speaking, ignoring Rez'okun's look of incredulity.

"Did you just _fleh'men_ at me, Darkspear?" Rez'okun interrupts, mildly insulted. He has become accustomed to making allowances for cultural differences, but surely even the Darkspear must have some concept of courtesy.

"Sorry, mon!" grins Ty'jin without the slightest hint of apology, as though he had not just sniffed Rez'okun as brazenly as an animal. "You Zandalari bathe so much, sometimes it be hard to get a good read on ya scent!"

"That is the purpose of bathing.” Rez’okun raises his brow-ridges pointedly. “Perhaps you should try it sometime."

Ty'jin rolls his eyes good-naturedly, wearing what Rez'okun has come to think of as his 'you are a silly fool and I am humoring you' expression. "That be the problem with you Zandalari. Always so uptight!"

"Because we prefer that strangers not be able to smell us from across the room?" says Rez’okun, almost laughing at the absurdity. Merciful loa. If Zandalari sailor's etiquette is Ty'jin's idea of _uptight_ , Rez'okun hopes he never crosses paths with a merchant or a noble.

"Because ya always so concerned about what other people be thinkin'! What, does it offend ya precious dignity that I can tell ya had a cup o' kafa this mornin', even though ya told the rest of us the beans ran out three days ago?"

"Captain's privileges." Rez'okun replies automatically. "And that is not the point!"

Ty'jin waves a hand dismissively and takes another swig of ale. "Tell ya what - you go ahead and do me back. Then we both be up in each other's business, and it be even."

"That is not my idea of a fair exchange." says Rez'okun, trying very hard not to be distracted by the sound of the words "do me" coming out of Ty'jin's mouth.

"Ya know ya want to." Ty'jin cajoles, elbowing Rez'okun's ribs in that jarringly over-familiar way of his. And the strange thing is, Rez'okun _does_. Rez'okun is the Zandalar Navy's foremost authority on exploratory expeditions. It goes without saying that he is in possession of a great deal of curiosity.

Rez'okun takes a fortifying sip of ale. Ty'jin waggles his brow-ridges.

Then, setting aside his manners, Rez'okun draws his lips up and inhales slowly through his mouth. His pupils dilate reflexively at the overwhelming rush of scents.

Surface-level scents hit him first. Leather. Smoke. Greasepaint. The sharp tang of alcohol, the copper-bright smell of blood not Ty’jin’s own - a reminder of enemies slain. A lingering whiff of azerite.

Deeper. Jungle troll, male. Older, but still in vigorous good health. Salt-crisp with sweat, but the sweat of recent exertion, not of stress. He is, in fact, almost indecently relaxed, his scent humming warm-calm as though he were sitting at this own hearth in his own home. Ty'jin is positively glowing with every indication of contentment and ease.

(Rez'okun suppresses an irrational urge to remind Ty'jin that this is _Rez'okun's_ ship, not Ty'jin's, and ask him to keep his cozy homey pheromones to himself, please and thank you. It's making the scent-glands under Rez'okun's jaw itch in a proprietary sort of way. If Ty'jin insists on walking around smelling like _this_ Rez'okun is going to have to go rub his face on every doorframe in the ship just so everyone remembers who is in charge.)

Rez’okun wonders if he is, perhaps, slightly more drunk than he realized. What he is doing could not possibly be more invasive. Seeing Ty'jin naked would be less revealing than this.

They are setting a terrible example for the crew. Rez’okun really should stop.

Rez’okun sniffs again.

Ty'jin's own personal musk is, of course, present. It is admittedly stronger than what the Zandalari consider appropriate in polite society - but not, Rez'okun concedes quietly to himself, entirely unappealing. Not unappealing at all.

And underneath everything else, so subtle it's less a smell than a _feeling_ , an intriguing hint of- something.

Rez'okun's ears snap forward entirely without his consent. Mortified, he wills them back into to a neutral position. Ty'jin looks at him with laughing eyes from under the brim of his stupid-looking hat.

Damn his eyes. A troll his age should not _sparkle_ so.

Unwilling to back down, Rez'okun sniffs once again.

Ah. Yes. There it is. Gleaming like a seam of azerite, as darkly tempting as a secret cup of kafa - a half-hidden thread that Rez’okun’s disbelieving nose registers as _amorous._ Nothing so crass as outright arousal, but certainly...interest. Invitation.

Rez’okun blinks as if emerging from a dream, suddenly aware that he has been openly sniffing in Ty’jin’s direction for much, much longer than originally intended. Ty’jin is grinning expectantly at him. His eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that puts a strange flutter into Rez’okun’s stomach.

Rez'okun's face, tanned a deep slate gray from many years at sea, does not show a blush easily. He can, however, feel his inner ears turn traitorously red.

The audacity of him. Who does he think he is, wafting pheromones in Rez'okun’s direction as though challenging him to notice?

How long has he been doing it?!

Rez’okun flounders momentarily, unsure how to proceed. Rez’okun is hardly a stranger to flirtation, but this - whatever _this_ is - lies wholly outside of his experience. No troll of Rez'okun's acquaintance has ever obliquely invited him into their bed through scent cues alone.

Perhaps Rez’okun should give the Darkspear more credit for their subtlety.

"Well.” says Rez’okun, standing abruptly. He is suddenly finding it difficult to make eye contact. Ty’jin’s brow-ridges lift. “I believe that is enough for one evening. I should return to my quarters.”

Ty'jin says nothing, but tilts his head with an expression that says _I know what you want, but I'm still going to make you come out and say it._ Rez'okun wants to slap the dimples right off of his smug, smiling face. Rez'okun wants to drag him upstairs by his ears and do unspeakable things to him.

Rez’okun clears his throat. His tongue suddenly feels heavy and clumsy in his mouth. He chooses to blame the alcohol.

"You may join me, if you wish."

Rez'okun does not _flee_ , not aboard his own ship, but he does exit briskly and without looking back. He is very, very grateful that the majority of the crew are either too drunk or too unconscious to offer comment.

Ty’jin takes a leisurely moment to finish his ale. Then, laughing quietly to himself, he follows.


End file.
